Until We Bleed
by Lotessei
Summary: It began on a Thursday; one of those days entirely similar to ones previous, but unbeknownst to the Wizarding world, it was the day on which their Saviour died. But then again, Harry Potter wasn't famous for nothing. And where did that leave Draco Malfoy? SLASH; HP/DM; WIP; Post-OOTP; Vampire!Harry; BDSM; HBP/DH-Spoilers
1. Prologue- Part One

_**This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Caption is taken from "Dust Bowl Dance" as performed by Mumford & Sons.**_

First of all, let me tell you that I have planned and plotted and fantasied about this story for years but never had the guts to actually write it for fear of doing it an injustice. Suffice to say, it is a work in progress but I would like a reader's input before I continue. It is therefore obvious that I cannot promise to finish the story and naturally the plot and by default the warnings are severely subject to change, however I will keep you updated on their status if they do. _Please_ let me know in the comments what you think, I beg of you. Enjoy! /Lotesse

* * *

_Seal my heart and break my pride_

_I've nowhere to stand and now nowhere to hide_

_Align my heart, my body, my mind_

_To face what I've done and do my time_

* * *

There are theories that religions were created for a singular purpose. Others disagree and claim that humanity created these beliefs of the divine for a multitude of reasons. But even so, most tend to agree that death's unknown and therefore frightening embrace is, by far, the strongest cause. The answer to all questions surrounding it lies at the heart of most, if not all, faiths and systems of religious belief. Even humans not particularly devoted to one tend to form ideas of what death is supposed to be like. There are answers such as the comforting paradise, to the terrifying hell or variants thereof. Then there are answers such as reincarnation wherein death is but a new birth. Whether or not what happens after the dying moment is eternal is also an important question. Though of course, there are the brave humans – or perhaps they are really cowards – who believe that death is simply the end; the everlasting snuffing out of a previously burning flame of life.

Harry Potter was not unique in this. As a child, he might have rarely asked these questions. But he did ask them. He had heard, though he could not remember from where, of people who had had a near death experience. Some had claimed to have seen a welcoming light. Others had also claimed to have seen their lives flash before their eyes. Even if Harry couldn't think of another version it didn't so much matter; he liked that version. It was therefore natural for him to wonder what his parents had seen. This, he had felt, was trickier to answer since he hadn't known them. He hadn't known what their childhoods were like, what they had done in their school years and he knew nothing of their lives together and what might've been important enough to flash before their eyes. He had hoped, however, that it was something nicer than the Dursleys and their life at 4 Privet Drive. Suffice to say, a recurring nightmare of his was that of inevitable death and that he would have nothing better to see.

Never had he wondered which part was to him the most important: the light or the flashing images? Somewhere along the line he had considered them inseparable. And so when his dying moment was upon him, when the fear, pain and heat of battle released their grip on his body, Harry smiled when the expected light beckoned him. He reached with his hand as if to touch it. Tendrils of swirling light danced up his wrist, pulling him forwards and he happily followed. With every step taken his remaining worries melted into glowing nothingness. This extended to his body; as eternities passed – or perhaps no time at all – he was no longer taking steps, but existed rather as a floating haze towards the horizon. But the closer he moved, the wider the distance became. And Harry questioned: where was Hagrid's birthday cake, Ron's dirty nose or even Hermione's bushy hair? Why could he not see the Gryffindor common room's enchanted fires or the vast, open grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry? How come there weren't any colourful beams of charms, jinxes or hexes whizzing by? Something stirred within him yet again and he wanted to turn back to where he knew all of these things existed but the light would not let him go. Still struggling against the swirls carrying him forwards, however, they evolved into shades of people.

"…_Harry_…" one of them whispered. "_My poor boy_…"

His shadow froze, chilling as it did so. "Mum?"

"_Oh_ Harry…" his mother's voice broke something within Harry. He could faintly remember the frantic pleading words of a mother over her threatened child, but they were happy and playful in comparison to these… these _heartachingly crushing_ ones. So sad, so painful, so shatteringly unfair were they that he cried out for a chance to simply cease existing altogether. But again his wish wasn't granted, as more and more shapes appeared out of the misty light and with them, more and more whispers. Vaguely, he distinguished the voices of his father and of Sirius and even of Cedric. But there were far too many of them to even account for people he had once known. _Far too many to even account for the number of people who had died_! Worse yet, they were moving towards him from all sides including from above and below. All around him tendrils of light appeared, trying but thankfully failing to claim him.

Harry tried to cry out to them, to shout that they should leave him alone. But he couldn't as a metallic sting like thousands of needle pricks spread throughout his mouth, down his throat and pooling in his guts. Meanwhile, body parts were slowly but ever quicker being returned to him, weighing him down until he had to fight to remain upright. Within him the pain grew into a searing inferno of white flames until there was no more room, until it had nowhere else to go but to burn through his skin in a desperate effort to remain alive. It shattered out of him in a deafeningly high crash and its shockwave took the whispering voices with it leaving him complete silence. Everywhere he could see there were infinitely many shards of glass hovering in utter darkness. Mirrored in all of them was a single image of his broken and hollow body suspended alone in their centre.

"_You will live forever now, Harry, I am going to kill you and you are going to like it_!"

Harry James Potter screamed.


	2. Prologue- Part Two

_**This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Caption is taken from "Invasion" as performed by Eisley.**_

This is merely a continuation of the prologue. Enjoy! /Lotesse

* * *

_You would take the breath from my throat_

_And you would take the cherished people that I hold_

* * *

It began on a Thursday; one of those days entirely similar to ones previous. At Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, students of all four Houses were waking up in varying states of excitement at the day's coming classes but nevertheless ready for them. The atmosphere was heavy with concentration for all of them would sit their exams, OWLs and NEWTs beginning next week and there was still _much_ to revise until then. Some of the students were disappointed to find that the clear summer's day of yesterday had been replaced by a cloudy sky, while some of the others were still optimistic that the remaining warmth was a sure sign of a sunny afternoon.

Breakfast was served such as usual in the Great Hall. It was – naturally – a flurry of activity as their chosen foods and warm tea or cold pumpkin juice filled their stomachs; energizing bodies and minds alike. This was of course magnified when the meal was once again interrupted by the arrival of hundreds of owls carrying their letters from home, newspaper subscriptions and also a great many packages. Many of these were for Draco Malfoy; strategically sitting at the centre of Slytherin table so his surrounding classmates could witness the expensive gifts his parents had bought him for his coming of age. Few of the other Houses paid him any heed for they had heard quite enough from the young wizard in last few weeks, thank you very much. But quite frankly, that was the height of how interesting the morning got. Not even the papers had anything newsworthy to report.

Though for this the students - and the Wizarding world at large - were grateful. Nothing particularly gruesome had occurred as a result of You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters terror in the last couple of months. This wasn't to suggest that they had been unnervingly quiet during this time; there were still reports of regular raids on unsuspecting muggles and muggleborns; of inexplicable disappearances of key personnel within the Ministry of Magic and other wizarding institutions; not to mention rumours of whose side a witch or wizard was on. But not that day. As the students slowly trickled out to get to their first lesson of the day, there was still nothing to suggest the coming tragedy.

Time had passed both slowly and quickly depending on each owns perspective and soon enough it was time for lunch. It was but a small number of students – a mixed group of sixth years ambitious enough to attempt a NEWT in Arithmancy whom Professor Vector had let go early – to arrive back in the Great Hall who first noticed it. Amongst them was Hermione Granger; whose usually keen intellect simply told her something was different. As she waited for her friends to walk through the massive double doors into the Hall, she pondered what it could possibly be. But try as she might, no answer came to her or to any of other rather cleverer students in the room.

"Do you know what's different?" she had hesitantly asked as the Gryffindor table started to fill up. Neither Harry Potter nor Ron Weasley had an answer and so she tried shake her niggling feeling out of her mind. The students ate their meal in relative peace but every so often someone shivered while someone else pulled their robes closer around them. At the Head Table, Professors McGonagall and Snape had shared a look; one which spoke volumes. Almost in unison they had risen and left their colleagues behind to voice aloud their suspicions to people who needed to hear them.

The following hour had remained blissfully ordinary but it wasn't long before more and more students were quickly starting to realise that something was simply… _off_. For instance, most of them had never noticed how every classroom contained at least one fireplace for they were almost never in use, including in the deepest of winter. But for the rest of that afternoon every lesson was accompanied by a roaring fire. Yet – as the first period after lunch drew to a close – they were not nearly enough. Even the vast amount of warming charms available to them proved to be fallible as the disheartening chill seemed to spread and seep into every pore of their skin.

Shivering and teeth clattering, the students walked in close groups in the otherwise welcoming stone corridors so as to keep warmth. Through the windows they could clearly see how the sky was quickly darkening and the wind was picking up in strength; its force whipping across the treeline. Even the thestrals who usually flew around and played in the distance by this time of day were mysteriously absent. Many chose therefore to spend their short breaks to return to their dorms to once again unpack their thick scarves in red, green, yellow and blue or perhaps to wrap a woollen winter cloak around their shoulders. By now, no student was unaware that something very concerning was going on. There were even whispers of Aurors arriving to the school and who were currently patrolling the grounds.

No sooner had the Gryffindor students left the Fat Lady behind them before they were blocked in the staircase by their Head of House. She had hastily informed them to return to their dorms immediately and to stay there until further notice. The prefects were asked to see to it that this was done and take attendance until she returned. As the students turned to go back, McGonagall called for Harry.

"It is imperative that you remain safe in Gryffindor tower tonight, Mr Potter," she had said.

"But—" Harry had started to argue, suspecting what was going on.

"_Imperative_," she punctuated. "Promise me this, Harry."

Reluctantly he had done so and left his professor to join his friends huddled around the fireplace.

* * *

"I can't just sit here and do _nothing_, Hermione!" shouted Harry several hours later. Darkness had by then well and truly fallen and the Hogwarts grounds were lit almost entirely by unclouded stars. The intense chill had persisted the entire evening but had taken a turn for the disbelieving and terrible: winds terrified the school's students as it seemed to shake the castle's very foundation but far worse were the hailstones it occasionally caught in its temporary tornados or the lightning that seemed to strike in their centres. If they hadn't witnessed it themselves they wouldn't have believed it, no matter the skill of the storyteller. However, the worst part was the beams of colour lighting up the horizon; exactly where they all knew the village Hogsmeade to be located.

"Professor McGonagall told you—"

"She also said she would return, but did she?"

"You cannot possibly hold that against her now considering—"

"_Exactly_! McGonagall can't exactly hold it against me either," Harry finished, feeling victorious when the witch became at a loss for words.

"Fine!" she snapped eventually. "But if you're going, I'm coming with you."

She followed him to where he was standing by an open window with his Firebolt and Invisibility Cloak, ready to brave the winds and fly towards the battle.

"Hey, wait up!" cried Ron after them. "Lemme get my broom."

He had hardly finished his sentence before his sister declared she, too, was going. Followed seconds later by Neville and other members of the D.A. Harry was just about to argue when a loud crack seemed to split the sky open. Looking outside, they all saw the familiar but dreaded green skull rising far too close to Hogwarts grounds for the battle to take place merely in Hogsmeade.

"Fine!" he mirrored his friend and gestured to her. "We're all going. Follow us when you're done."

At their friends' agreement, Hermione used the charmed galleons to signal to _all _members what they were about to do then she climbed atop Harry's broom and they took off. "Are you sure about this, Harry?" she shouted in his ear to override the immense whooshing of the wind whipping around then.

Harry merely shook his head.

* * *

"_Protego_!" yelled Harry and watched as yet another unknown but nevertheless evil-looking spell reflected away from him. He could only hope it wouldn't hit someone else in its new direction. Mentally, he cursed how wholly unprepared they were for a battle of this magnitude. Many of the spells he could've sworn he had mastered had all but shocked him to a standstill when he realised the consequences of fighting in such close quarters; they ricochet; they joined with other spells; they crashed into one another creating massive explosions of magical energy; and Merlin only knew what else. Several times he had gone through a subconscious list of every duelling spell he knew and inevitably his enemies had learnt of his meagre repertoire and they had laughed as they took advantage.

As it was, Harry was no longer fighting; he was merely trying to get out of there with his life intact, Professor McGonagall's words ringing in his ears. He knew others weren't that lucky. Not far from where he was trying to manoeuvre through the pandemonium of curses and counter cursers, there lay a dead Auror trainee. Harry vaguely recognised her long, black braid from Hogwarts some years ago. He had tried to help her but when her head had split open and she had fallen to the wet underbrush of the Forbidden Forrest, there was nothing he could've done. And some time before that, he had found Ginny hiding inside a hollow tree nursing a horribly disfigured, broken wrist. He had given her his Invisibility Cloak told her to escape but had no way of knowing his friend had actually succeeded.

Hermione though, he suspected, was still fighting but he couldn't be sure; he hadn't seen her since they had fallen literally headfirst into battle after the Firebolt had been cursed and subsequently smashed to pieces. But Ron had shouted – blood spitting out of his mouth as he did so – to him earlier that she was still alive. Before Harry had managed to get to him, however, they too were separated as the Aurors along with the Order of the Phoenix subtly led the battle to the uninhabited forest. Away from Hogsmeade.

Oh Merlin, _Hogsmeade_! Harry doubted there was anything left of the village. He could still see the cursed black flames rising from where the welcoming cottages were supposed to be. Everywhere there had been bloody, splinched parts of innocent witches and wizards trying to flee the Dementors feeding on their terror. Young children had screamed under the Cruciatus Curse as the broken bodies of their parents lay beside them too damaged to interfere. The Death Eaters, he had realised, weren't looking for a massacre; they wanted to bring the Wizarding world to its knees.

Harry laughed mirthlessly at his thoughts as he lost his balance, falling to the ground after dodging yet another unknown curse. Muscles aching from both tension and exhaustion, he held onto a nearby branch to drag himself upright again. He shot a Stunner in the direction from where the curse was cast and hoped it took down an enemy. It was then he noticed that he was nearing his goal; the edge of the forest and the relatively safe grounds of Hogwarts from which he could escape back to the castle. The only thing standing in his way was a single duel between a witch and a wizard. At first he didn't recognise either of them but then the body of the defending witch was projected backwards. The force with which she hit a tree revealed a tress of blonde hair beneath her hood.

_Luna_.

Acting on instinct, Harry bellowed "_Sectumsempra_!" and waved his wand desperately at the grown wizard approaching the whimpering fifth year. He knew what would happen now – he had cast it twice earlier – and so he was prepared for the splashes of blood emanating from wounds opened by an invisible sword. Satisfied when the Death Eater started staggering, Harry approached swiftly but nevertheless carefully. So focused was he on a potential counterattack that he hardly noticed how the man grasped his throat desperately or how blood was seeping through his ever-paler fingers.

"No—" he gasped when the body collapsed mere metres in front of him. He sprinted there and crouched beside the dead man though still trying to stop the bleeding. It was there he finally recognised him as Augustus Rookwood, one of the Death Eaters who had stolen the Prophecy during the attack of the Department of Mysteries the year prior. Harry knew full well what cruelty the Death Eater had committed but he still didn't want him to die! Or did he just not want to become a killer?

"Harry," said Luna softly, wincing as she tried to move from the tree.

"No, I didn't—"

"Harry," she said again, more sharply now. "Behind—"

With a sickening crunch Luna was smashed against the tree yet again. This time, her eyes closed and she slumped to her side. Her pale hair was slowly coloured red. Harry's shoulders tensed and his hands stilled, a cold shudder ran down his spine as he listened for a sign of what the girl had seen. In the distance, he could still hear the sizzling, cracking and cries of spells cast but nearby, only the sound his stressed breathing caught his ears. He looked at Luna but her tranquil body gave no further warning. _Please don't be dead_, he thought moments before a naked, cool hand caught his neck and lifted him as one would a misbehaving kitten. Vertebras cracked under the pressure as he was carried back into the forest.

"How sweet of you to paint yourself so prettily," a silky smooth voice purred into his ear. "It _is_ my favourite colour, after all."

"Let me go!" yelled Harry, trying to kick at the creature and scratch his way free of hand holding him.

The creature laughed. "Ah, none of that," and pierced Harry's skin with its claws. It lapped at the emerging blood, and continued. "You taste wonderful, pet. Fresh murder is so…_ exquisite_."

They had reached an open clearing deep in the Forbidden Forest and therefore far from anyone else. Even if he had cried for help none would have heard him. Harry had a sinking feeling the creature knew this and that it was entirely intentional. Looking around, he noted the eerie calm around them; Voldemort's magical storms didn't reach this far thus making the unfamiliar silence surround them from every angle in a serene shelter. Only the stars were present to bear witness; the forest welcoming them in an open circle of the crowns of the trees above. It was strangely beautiful and almost romantic. But it also drove a deep shiver down through Harry's body starting from the creature's hand on his neck, going so far as to make even his toes tremble and the hair rise on every inch of his skin.

Panic rising, he charged one final kick at the creature. This one did hit and with a dreadful growl, Harry was thrown into soft, moist moss. No sooner had he landed before he was rolled over and pinned down; the creature straddling his thighs with his hands locked in place above his head by some strange force of dark magic. His throat was slowly being crushed as the creature strangled him, hissing threateningly behind moonlit fangs. But then it suddenly let go, sat back and laughed cruelly to the empty air. Meanwhile, Harry tried to slither out from under it but its legs just tightened around his own, rendering physically unable to move.

"Oh, the irony," it chuckled. "I seem to have caught myself the boy who _lived._"

Green eyes blazing in defiance, Harry said nothing as the creature gently caressed his infamous lightning scar with a bloodied finger; his own blood, which it then proceeded to clean away agonizingly slowly with its tongue.

"Hello, Harry," was purred into his ear. "My name is Seth. The Dark Lord Voldemort might not approve, shall we say, of this but well… you are far more tempting, _simply irresistible_, for me not to taint you."

Harry had to fight the urge to lean into the sensation as the creature suckled and kissed the skin shielding the racing pulse in his carotid artery, moaning in pleasure as it did so. His hopes were hastily abandoning him for he could see no solution to the state he was in other than regret and wishful thinking. _If only_, he mentally chanted, _if only he had simply kept his promise_. As sharp teeth stabbed the abused skin and his blood rushed from his body, Harry realised Snape was right; he truly was a reckless idiot of a fool for landing himself trapped under this dark creature; for risking the lives of his friends; for charging into battle _still_ so exceedingly ignorant of the horrors of war. He thought of Hermione; her body bruised by their crash, of Ron; so obviously injured as he vomited blood, of Ginny; tears streaming down a face twisted by pain, of Luna; _oh Luna_…

"…_simply irresistible_…"

All sense of tension in his muscles fled and he sunk further into his soft bed of moss.

"_No…_" he cried as the stars started spinning, slipping out of touch.

Like heavy curtains, his eyelids fell; _this is it_.

"…_Yes_!"


	3. Chapter One

_**This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Caption is taken from "Carnival" as performed by The Crüxshadows, taken with liberties.**_

* * *

Heartfelt thanks go out to my friends Dar'Quing and Draco for reading draft after draft and subsequently dealing with my insecurities! Also, note the change in summary. Enjoy! /Lotesse

* * *

_Each thought that is imagined,_

_Gains a life of its own_

_And drifts into reality,_

_Looking for its home_

* * *

"Ah, Poppy, good of you to join us. How is our Harry doing?"

"Not well, Albus. The transformation is quite painful."

"How much pain can he possibly be in? He is unconscious!"

"Severus, you of all people should know how much one can feel even in an unconscious state. As it is, Mr Potter has been screaming himself hoarse all morning; as he does every morning at dawn."

"Do you still hold to your assessment that he will wake this evening?"

"My new scans show minimal bodily functions and at the projected rate the transformation will be complete sometime around midnight."

"Excellent. As you are all well aware, the last of the students left by Portkey just under an hour ago. We must take the opportunity to finalize our options going forwards. Kingsley?"

"I have added to my report that we may or may not have witnessed Seth St. Clair in the confusion. They are keeping it under wraps, of course, but rumours will spread regardless. Wizarding families will take necessary precautions if they haven't already and it won't come as much of a surprise when the remaining students are offered the Wiggenweld potion in their letters. "

"Do you have any idea of how much of my time that will require?"

"Hush Severus, there are several of us here who know our way around a cauldron. We shall all lend a hand as required."

"Be that as it may, I still say it is incredibly naïve of us to assume that we can keep a pet vampire in a school. You have tried and failed that before, Albus."

"Nevertheless, we are more likely to keep the boy's loss of humanity from Voldemort if his life proceeds as normal. Now, regarding Ms Granger…"

"She is distraught and frightened, sure, but she has agreed."

"That is also good news, Minerva. Let's continue…"

* * *

Mind believing he was falling; Harry Potter tensed and jumped as his mind kicked back into awareness. A low hiss escaped his lips when his body wildly protested against the sudden action. Muscles ached and twitched as an acidic burn awoke throughout them, joints cracked loudly and a dull but intense heaviness pulsed inside his head. Harry found he couldn't move; his tortured body simply didn't respond to his wishes.

How long he lay there alone in the darkness, looking at the sterile, pale stone ceiling of what he believed to be the Hospital Wing, he didn't know. It was surprisingly easy and almost natural for him to remain utterly still like some bedridden statue. As time slowly passed it appeared to him as if most of the pain had centred in his guts and the back of his throat. He felt thirsty like one would after screaming for hours and the air had dried up their mouths and trachea. _But_, Harry supposed, _perhaps he had_. He could vaguely remember the battle. It didn't seem unreasonable to suggest he had suffered through some scary nightmares. Hazy images of what he believed to be one of them entered his mind, but he could neither make sense of nor even place them.

There was a niggling doubt deep inside his mind that just perhaps, that was not it but he paid it no heed.

Eventually, Harry felt relaxed enough to try his hand at sitting up. His abs were no longer overly sensitive to tension and so he succeeded. He cautiously twisted his pounding head to take in his surroundings. The surprising sight of the Isolation chamber of the Hospital Wing greeted him. It had been just over three years since he had first – and last – seen it during a curious outbreak of Chicken pox at Hogwarts. Ron had been one of the victims living in that room for a couple of weeks. Harry and Hermione weren't allowed inside, but they had nevertheless spent time with their friend by watching and talking to him through a faux but heavily warded wall.

Other than that particular blank wall – Harry realised it was located to his left, next to a small side table – the room contained an empty bookcase and a couple of simple, red velvet armchairs leaning against the wall in front of him. To his right, there stood a wardrobe and beside it was his own trunk. Disregarding the heavy, black curtains framing the two small windows behind him, the room was entirely undecorated; pale walls, floor and ceiling impersonally looking back at him. Absently, Harry found it strange how he could note these things for he felt no glasses leaning on his ears and he had seen no light source. But more importantly, he wondered if he was being observed behind the faux wall.

Knowing it acted similarly to a one-way mirror unless touched, he tried to lift his arm to do so. But his effort only served to make him away that he was bound; sparklingly enchanted chains bound him in place.

"W-what?" Harry tried to say, but it came out sounding more like a mix between a croak and a cough.

"Do not attempt to speak," said Madam Pomfrey softly, having entered from nowhere.

"W-why?" he asked anyway.

The mediwitch sighed. "Because speech requires you to breath and we'd all prefer it if you did _not_ attempt that."

Perhaps it was the audible sound of Pomfrey's own _breathing_ or her actual use of the word, but it suddenly occurred to Harry that he had entirely forgotten to do it. Acting on an almost lost instinct he took one deep breath through his nose and instantly realised why she thought it was a bad idea; time seemed to slow down, all impressions around him magnified and his every senses attuned the human beside him. How her lungs needed air when his didn't; how her heart was beating when his wasn't; how her blood circulated when his wasn't; how she had _Life_ when he didn't. But _oh_, how he wanted hers and fantasies of how he could steal it for his own invaded in every corner of his mind. Fiercely, Harry started to struggle against clattering chains.

"_Come here_," he hissed. In the hazy blood lust coursing through him he wasn't even slightly disturbed by the sharp teeth extending in his mouth; his tongue merely stroked them, salivating.

"Foolish boy," the human muttered. "_Finite_. Here you go."

She left a single but quite large glass goblet on the side table as she retreated back behind the wards of the faux wall. Its contents left Harry's chest constricted in longing and he wasted no moment holding it to his almost drooling lips. He drank deeply from it; sighing in relief as the blood filled him, revived him but most importantly drained away any remaining discomforts Harry didn't even know his body experienced. When the goblet was all but empty, he resisted the urge to lick it clean and lay back against the sheets, his mind now swimming in pleasure.

"Better?"

"_Much_."

He heard a distinct clink and felt as his wrists were once again freed.

"Do you see this?" Harry looked up to see her gesturing to a delicate chain holding a simple, silver crucifix; he shuddered and nodded in reply. "Remember it. Now, do you have any questions?" She began casting her usual medical scans.

Suspiciously watching her wand moving above his body, Harry considered this for a moment. He could by now quite clearly remember the entire night of the battle. The end of it, when the vampire – _Seth_, his mind supplied – had captured him and how he had been carted off back to the Forbidden Forrest was a particularly vivid memory. If he focused, he could still feel his dejected resignation as if it was still happening. At the time, he certainly hadn't expected to wake up and remember it. But in hindsight it was as clear a day what Seth had intended; exactly how he had been tainted was obvious to Harry.

"What about the others?" he asked instead, taking great care in breathing with his mouth. It only helped marginally to hinder the scent of living human despite the goblet of blood.

"Your friends are quite safe, Mr Potter. Ms Granger sustained a nasty concussion but remained otherwise unharmed. Mr Weasley, on the other hand, received quite serious internal injuries but will recuperate fully. As will his sister; she told us what you did for her. It most assuredly saved her life for she was in no state to do so on her own."

"And what about everyone else?"

"They are either fine or they will be. Most of them are resting at home with their families, as they should. The Death Eaters were… surprisingly hesitant to take lives."

"What did you tell Luna's father?"

"What do you mean?" Pomfrey stopped casting momentarily and pursed her lips in thought. "Ms Lovegood said—"

"You mean she's _alive_?"

"Of course she's alive, Mr Potter. I just said your friends were fine. In fact, you saved her life also. She told us she was fighting Seth St. Clair when you interrupted them. Sweet girl, waking up alone with those injuries yet she still looked for you and brought your body back to the castle."

"But—" Harry heard himself argue but then stopped himself. _But what about Rookwood_?

Pomfrey apparently didn't hear as she finished her scans, nodding to herself when skimming the scrolls of parchment they had produced. "Now, there are extensive texts written on vampires, of course, but for all intents and purposes they might as well be pure hogwash, as you should be very well aware. Vampires are notorious for spreading lies about their nature to protect themselves. Professor Dumbledore believes, however, that you will be quite safe here. As the summer progresses we will slowly get you used to human presence. It is imperative that this remains a secret to You-Know-Who and as such, you need to be ready to stay in school come autumn. You must try to breathe and speak as little as possible; we cannot feed you as often as we'd like. I will be in the adjoining room should you need anything. For what it's worth, Harry, I am sorry for this."

She resealed the wall behind her; leaving Harry in complete darkness once more.

* * *

Some hours had passed when Harry first began to wonder if reality was setting in. It wasn't that he wanted to rant and shout at the world and its unfairness as he had done when learning of the Prophecy. This, he knew, wasn't at all unfair; it was Harry who had disregarded the rules; it was Harry who had gone off alone in the battle; it was Harry who had been careless enough to wind up in that clearing. His current situation was altogether his own fault. Though perhaps the blame was better placed on Seth – whoever he was – but he didn't quite want to go there; he wanted the responsibility to be his alone.

This was entirely the crux of the matter; it was how humane he had acted – save for the brief moment of all-consuming thirst – and how his thoughts still seemed so human in nature. Denial could perhaps have explained his earlier reactions. But how did denial translate to what he was feeling and thinking now? While he could accept it as factually true, Harry didn't _feel _like a vampire. On the flipside, he didn't feel very human either for there were things he now sensed that humans simply couldn't. Such as how he could faintly hear Madam Pomfrey snoozing in her sleep or even feel the foundations of Hogwarts pulse beneath him.

In a blocked corner of his mind, the young childe knew that these changes weren't the limit of what he was supposed to experience. He just couldn't find the words to explain what was missing, even to himself; he just knew and therein lay the problem. It appeared that the more Harry tried to rationalize what was happening to him, the more his mind seemed forced into some strange duality of human and vampire. And that made Harry unable to process the drastic change in his life.

_Perhaps denial isn't the right word after all_, Harry thought to himself as he closed the curtains; somehow knowing dawn was approaching.

* * *

Madam Pomfrey had returned just before dinner later that day. Unfortunately to the vampire, she had brought no fresh goblet for him to drown his thirst with and Harry had not dared to test his self-control regardless of her crucifix. This not making him much of a conversationalist, she had merely given him the day's Daily Prophet and some books on vampires; apologising for overwhelming him and left. What she meant by overwhelming, he couldn't be entirely sure. A quick look at the newspaper had revealed the date to be June 12th and for once, Harry had actually been surprised. _Really_, he mused, _it only took a week to die?_

The one interesting article he had read from it detailed the aftermath of The Battle of Forbidden Forrest as they called it; now that the final reports had been filed. It spoke volumes how they hardly mentioned Hogsmeade but that was in all likelihood, he figured in hindsight, Voldemort's purpose behind the attack. Only a single paragraph was dedicated to the reparations of the ravaged village. It spoke at length, however, of the many injuries and how the hundreds of victims were faring in a very busy St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Harry scanned it carefully for other vampire bites but found none. At end there was a memorial to the three fatalities; Isabel MacDougal, Auror trainee and older sister of a girl in his year; Alfred Birch, owner of a small thrift store; Alexandra Dolohov, apparent Death Eater and great-niece to Antonin Dolohov.

There was no mention of Augustus Rookwood, convicted Death Eater.

* * *

The newly born vampire and his caretaker settled quite quickly into a semi-comfortable routine for the next fortnight; every evening Pomfrey brought him something new to occupy his mind with but always at least one book – the bookcase in his cage was quickly filling up – and every other morning she would return with another goblet of warm blood. It was only during these mornings she allowed herself to stay; often for hours at a time. He had once commented on this to which she had promptly replied that there weren't much to do in the summer holidays when your occupation read school nurse. Harry hadn't known how to interpret her comment.

Their topics of conversation almost never touched on anything personal in nature. Whenever they did, it was exclusively Harry sharing the stories of his friends and their escapes in earlier years. But then there would come a moment when the childe lost his sense of emotional connection to them and Madam Pomfrey would hastily change the subject. Frequently she asked him about his studies; particularly pertaining to vampiric myths and his opinion of their base in truth. His answers to these questions were ever vague but not intentionally avoiding. Other times she would inquire about his actual schoolwork and sometimes even test him for his exams – thankfully rescheduled to the second week of September. The mediwitch thought he would do quite well on them.

With the maelstrom of opposing thoughts occupying his mind, Harry had grown to welcome these familiar interruptions to his brooding. The morning of Friday the 27th was altogether different, however. For starters, it came and went without any sign of the human. Despite his newfound respect for time, he _was_ growing impatient; having to resort to twisting his head to either side, hoping against hope the tension in his muscles would relieve some of his building thirst. Once she at last deemed to arrive she stayed outside the boundaries of the ward. The vampire had to resist the urge to bare his fangs at her.

"Do not speak," said Pomfrey simply and closed the wall.

"Hullo Harry," said a pale-looking Ron moments later. In his hands was the glass goblet. Harry mentally cursed the mediwitch for putting him through this so soon. He wasn't ready; his thoughts weren't clear and his instincts out of control. Despite his contradicting wishes, he moved towards the young human as a cat stalking its prey. For to him, Ron was prey; the vampire's every senses zeroed in on the unshielded skin hiding the carotid artery he desired above all else to sink his teeth into.

Ron clearly noticed for he held out the goblet with quivering hands. "Uhm, dinner is served?"

Reluctantly – glaring as he did so – he took the goblet and drank deeply. A gentle disappointment interrupted the rush of magic usually making his head swim. Nevertheless, it eased his thirst and Harry was able to assess his friend more clearly. Ron was scared, clearly, but defiant against it; a Gryffindor through and through. Harry softened.

"I'm so sorry, Ron," he whispered.

"Don't be," Ron shrugged. "How have you, uh, been?" He grabbed himself one of the armchairs.

Snorting, Harry took the other. "Dealing, I suppose. You? I heard you were almost done for."

"Oh, that… I'm fine now. Malfoy – senior, mind but I wouldn't put it past junior – did something to my guts though I can't be bothered to understand what, you know?" he hurried. "But you should've seen dad! He had a right fit when he ran into him at the Ministry the day after."

"Well, you seem overly ok with this," noted Harry, twirling the empty goblet still in his hand.

His friend stilled and then laughed. "Merlin, I wasn't. But I've had a lot of time to think about it, not to mention a lot of detentions. Did you know the professors could give detentions in the summer?"

He shook his head no. "What? You live here, too?"

"Well, yeah! What with everything going on, the entire Order and their families are. And well, Hermione of course," replied Ron incredulously.

"How is she?"

"She's very tired and all, but she says she's happy to do it."

Harry straightened up in his seat. "Do _what_ exactly?"

"Mate, didn't they tell you it's her blood you're drinking?"

_Crash_.


End file.
